Nightmare Train

"Paula, that never happened. Your memory is off. You have such a vivid imagination," I hear my mom say to me, her voice coming out of the fog. I try to keep her opinion of me in mind as I take in my surreal surroundings. I can't decide if they are real or not. A chill runs down my spine as I observe the fog in front of me. There is a loud mechanical rumbling sound coming from behind me. Everything seems to be a blur. Without meaning to, I start walking forward. I know there is a cliff ahead but I fear the mechanical rumbling from behind more than the cliff. I hear gravel crunch beneath my favorite blue pumps, but I don't feel the pumps pinch my feet or the gravel give way to my weight. Come to think of it, I don't feel anything. I keep walking forward. I start to move faster as the rumbling gets louder. Soon I am running, and my pumps miraculously stay on. Then I see that I am falling. I can still hear the rumbling. The wall of rock rushes past me. I see the ground approaching fast. I feel hard wood hit my back and my eyes open. Breathing rapidly, I take in my surroundings. I have a blanket wrapped around me. To my right there is a bed and blue skies that can be seen out of the window next to it. On my left, I can see the steep cliff wall rising high above me. I can tell by looking out the window I'm not currently in my home country of Chile. It's dense with shrubbery you would expect to find in the cloud forest in the Andes of Peru. Physically, something doesn't feel right. I look down and notice that I'm no longer wearing my blue pumps and dress that I had on last time I remember being concious. Instead, I am wearing red silk pajamas with white trim. I place my hands on my buttocks and my stomach churns. Someone has taken off my underwear. I can feel that my bra is gone too. I'm lightheaded as the realization of my situation starts to sink in. I have been kidnapped. I start to think back to the events of yesterday. I was visiting my parents after Fall semester and we were celebrating Fiesta de la Tirana. We had just finished watching a performance of Diablada, the Dance of the Devils. Several of the dancers were walking around still in costume. A few of the male dancers dressed as devils came up to me in an attempt to flirt with me. I waved them off saying I had a boyfriend already, even though that's a lie. One of them though had been extra persistent and insisted it didn't matter if I had a boyfriend. I kept telling him I didn't need another man in my life. He tried to reach out and take my hand, but I pulled it away. Then my dad came up beside me and asked the dancer what was he doing talking to his daughter and yelled at him to get away. Before walking off, I got a good glimpse of the dancer's glaring eyes. His eyes were filled with desire and anger. Could he have been the one that kidnapped me? Or perhaps one of the other dancers? Surely there is more to the story. I know I heard someone speaking to me in a Peruvian accent at some point. I try to remember more of what happened yesterday when the train whistle interrupts my thoughts. I look towards the front of the train. I start to weigh my options. I can stay here, confused and terrified until something happens, or I could start searching for answers. My hands fly to my ears as the whistle blows again. If I start exploring, I could try to look for people or clues. People would have answers, but clues are safer. There is at least one other person on this train if the whistle is being blown. They were dressed as devils, I think to myself. Or did I just imagine the dancers dressed as devils? Perhaps I dreamt I met the dancers after the show was over. They were very handsome afterall. I look out the window and watch as a mixture of trees and flowers flash by. Nothing makes sense anymore. My stomach churns again and my brain feels cold. I guess having a mild brain freeze is just another sign my body is giving me that I'm afraid. If there are devils on this train, then I don't want to meet them. I turn and start heading to the back of the train. As I approach the back of the car I notice there is a door facing the cliff. I start to feel a faint glimmer of hope. If I can open it, I might be free from this living nightmare sooner than I expect. I grab the doorknob and turn. I here the click of a lock. I look more closely at the doorknob and my heart sinks. I see a keyhole on my side of the door. Since I'm now calm enough to be able to consider my potential means of escape, I go to one of the windows. I run my fingers along the top trim. There is no latch. I try the bottom. As I run my fingers along the bottom trim, I notice the scenery in front of me is leaving my view at an increasing rate. What was once easy to look at now looks a little blurry unless I allow my eyes to follow it for a brief moment. I still can't find a latch. I think now will be a good time to try the adjoining car if I can get in. I turn the doorknob and it opens with ease. I look in the hallway and I realize I never thought I would miss train cars that had nothing but a small railing and open space between them. I walk through the hallway and find myself in a dining car. All the tables are neatly arranged with shiny silverware, ivory napkins, and wine glasses that shake ever so slightly with the motion of the train. I observe each table carefully as I go, checking the bottom as well as the top. On the center table there is a large bottle of Rose Champagne in a bucket of ice. Next to it is a bouquet of two dozen red roses in a red heart shaped vase and a small card decorated by pink striping and "Paula" in the center. I open the card and it says "From X". I drop the card and move further down the car. As I walk I have a flashback. On the day before yesterday, I had a long conversation at a cafe with a young man who was going to dance in the Kayahualla. To participate, he was going to wear an outfit that had a large bib marked by an "X". He said he chose to dance in the Kayahualla because he believed the "X" symbolized his name. When I asked the man what his name is, he had said Alexander. But Alexander was from a poor farming family. Or so he said. Or did he say? My mom has always insisted I was prone to exaggeration and mixing up facts. Once we were arguing over what happened to a hat we shared. I told her I had last seen her wear it Sunday. She then insisted I was wrong and instead I was the one to wear it Sunday. Needless to say, we haven't found the hat since and wish we had. That would be a happier memory with my mother. Now filling myself with doubt, I turn around and head back to the table. I pick up the card and examine it more closely. The edges are perfectly crisp. The handwriting has a loose and flowing look to it, with the "X" having a slightly exaggerated swooping tail. Then I detect a faint smell. I bring the card closer to my face and breath in a deep whiff. It's smells heavenly. It's a type of cologne. It's probably a very expensive cologne, given that I hate most basic colognes. A voice comes to mind. Not a face, just a voice. It's the Peruvian accent again. I smell the card once more. Yes, I do believe at some point I heard someone with a Peruvian accent speaking and I smelled this cologne. I find it puzzling a Peruvian would be at the Fiesta de la Tirana to kidnap someone like me and then place me on a train seemly going nowhere in particular in the middle of the Andes Mountains. It seems like such an odd way of going about kidnapping someone.